"Naptime, Bud" by Chad Lahr (Story Poem)

The sun rose over

The mountains of books

And boxes, bottles,

Hordes of my things

Long forgotten in

That little apartment.

My eyes cracked open

Blades of light through

Blades of window shades.

My mouth was a desert.

“No, NO!” What time is it?

“Hey buds” and yaps

Come into focus

Through the foggy maze

Of my aging brain

Clouded with Bombay,

Dry, like this old mouth.

Sitting up, I creak

And “Oh” like the floorboards

As my feet find their way

To the distant ground.

I feel the frigid,

Dusty, morning floor.

One foot. Two feet. My sock?

Lost in the stumble

Hours earlier

That seemed so much clearer

Somehow at that time.

I go downstairs. Water.

Upstairs. Naptime, bud.